


Under the Hunter's Moon

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-08-07
Updated: 1999-08-07
Packaged: 2018-11-10 15:02:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11129220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Ben's journals detail a time when Dief returned to the wild.





	Under the Hunter's Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

Disclaimer: This story is written for the private

Disclaimer: This story is written for the private entertainment of fans. The author makes no claims on he characters or their portrayal by the creation of this story. Fraser, Vecchio, et.al. belong to Alliance. No infringement of any copyrights held by CBS, Alliance, CTV, or any other copyright holders of DUE SOUTH is intended. This story is not published for profit, and the author does not give permission for this story to be reproduced for profit.

Rated PG

Under the Hunter's Moon

By Cassandra Hope

(Copyright August 1999)

SELECTED ENTRIES FROM THE JOURNALS OF CONSTABLE BENTON FRASER

Journal entry: 17 May 1993

Diefenbaker is gone. I don't know where he is nor where he had gone. I half expected this day yet dreaded its coming. He has been a friend when I had no other.

I watched his restlessness increase over the past month. I watched him at night when the other wolves howled and he would bound off into the darkness to join his solitary voice with that otherworldly chorus. I was thankful each time he returned to me. But I knew the call of the pack was strong and each time he left I feared he would not return.

He has been gone now for three days. I followed his tracks to the river but lost him in the rocks along the bank. I have searched every place I could think of with no luck. I am afraid I have lost him for good. Why must I lose my closest friend like this?

I know he's just a wolf but, sometimes, I am convinced that there is more than just a wolf's mind that stares at me from his eyes. There is an intelligence there--an intelligence that equals my own. It is different than mine, for his is of the earth and the forest and the ways of the wolf where mine is of books and study and the ways of man. He lives by a code of honor that man would do well to emulate. He is my friend, but now he is gone. Gone to seek the life he left behind when he chose to stay with me.

I worry about him. He was only a pup when he chose to stay with me. He is more civilized than the wild ones that have called to him. But, he is strong and resilient and resourceful. He will do well. I envy him his chance to find happiness among his own kind. Some day I hope to find the same with mine.

I should be happy for him, but all I can see is the emptiness beneath my bed where he slept--the untouched water bowl and food dish--the hated collar hung by the door. Diefenbaker is gone and I will miss him. He was more than just a friend. He was that 'friend that sticks closer than a brother.'

 

Journal entry: 10 June 1993

Last night I listened to the chorus of lupine voices that serenaded the moon. Is Deifenbaker with them? Did he lift his voice in song? Is he happy? Does he remember me?

There were wolf tracks around the cabin this morning. The ground was soft enough to permit the impression of those pawprints. Were they Dief's or did they belong to some curious visitor? I wish I knew. 

 

Journal entry: 22 June 1993

I saw the pack this afternoon. I was on the trail of some poachers and came across a scene of slaughter. One of the elk escaped but was badly injured from the amount of blood shed along its trail. I tracked the elk intending on putting it out of its misery. That duty was not necessary. The pack found the elk before I did. 

They reluctantly scattered when I entered the clearing. As I crouched down to observe them I noticed a familiar looking white coat. Was it Diefenbaker? I prefer to think it was. I want to believe he has found a home with the wild ones. I still miss his companionship.

 

Journal entry: 12 July 1993

A rancher came into the post today complaining about a marauding wolf. The description he gave stilled my heart. It could have been Dief he was describing. Has Dief become a rogue? I cannot believe that but the evidence against him is overwhelming. What if he hasn't been accepted into a pack? What if he has turned to cattle to assuage his hunger? What will I do if this wolf is Diefenbaker?

 

Journal entry: 15 July 1993

I left early this morning to track the rogue wolf ever fearful that I would find Diefenbaker at the end of my hunt. I met the rancher at the scene of last night's kill--four calves and not one eaten. The wolf simply killed them. The rancher swore to take matters into his own hands if something is not done. Dief, I pray that this is not your work. 

I tracked the wolf for seven miles. He is a wily one, backtracking and looping in large circles. I feel he is laughing at me and my efforts to track him. At times I could feel his eyes upon me. During one such episode, I called out to him. If it was Diefenbaker, he no longer knows his name or he chose to not respond. I continue to hope that this wolf is not Dief but I am realistic enough to know that the odds are against it.

I lost the trail on the edge of a small lake. I circumnavigated the entire lake with no luck. I can only guess that he must have used the waters of the tiny stream that fed the lake to cover his tracks. He is smart. 

Journal entry: 27 July 1993

The rancher stopped by the post this morning to say that he'd hired a bounty hunter to track the wolf. The gleam in his eyes as he described the methods the hunter will use made me shudder in distaste. I continue to pray that this wolf is not Dief but now I also pray that the wolf will be smart enough to leave this area and not return. What this hunter has planned is vicious and I would not wish that upon my worst enemy.

Journal entry: 4 August 1993

I was called out to take possession of a wolf carcass. The bounty hunter succeeded where I failed. With my heart in my throat I drove the distance to the ranch. Even as I pulled into the yard I could see the hands celebrating the demise of this animal. From a distance I caught glimpses of a white pelt covered with blood. I stared in horror as one of the hands took a large knife and plunged it into the lifeless body then laugh hideously. I faltered as I approached the group. Was it Diefenbaker being violated? I prayed not but steeled myself for the worst.

The men parted and motioned me forward to view the animal. I closed my eyes then opened them and strode forward. I tried not to see the many wounds as I lifted the head and stared into the face of the dead wolf.

Relief! Abject and total relief! It was not Diefenbaker! The muzzle was too sharp and where Dief had a whiter patch on his face this animal had a brown streak. There were also streaks of brown in the pelt where Dief had only had a few. I stood there on wobbly legs, giving thanks that this magnificent animal wasn't my friend of old. 

 

Journal entry: 2 September 1993

The weather has been uncooperative of late. There has been no rain for over 2 months and everything is tinder dry. The chances of a wildfire increase daily. How will Dief manage if fire does break out? 

Journal entry: 23 September 1993

I will try to reconstruct what has happened over the past three weeks. As feared the fires started. The RCMP allowed its personnel to participate in the fire-fighting. I was helping cut a fire line when word came that the wind had shifted and the fire had jumped the line. The group I was working with started back down the mountainside. From behind us we could hear the voice of the fire as it swept through the trees. We hurried not wanting to be cut off from escape. 

I don't know what happened, the wind shifted and another blaze came at us from downslope. We turned and headed at an angle to the new blaze ever conscious of the one roaring down on us from above. The fire moved faster than we did and soon the trees and brush about us were bursting into flame. I lost track of the other men in my group. I called to them but the smoke was so thick that my call was little more than a hoarse cough.

I stumbled in the direction of safety hoping for a cessation of smoke and fire. I could hear the crackling of the wood as it burned and the whispering of the flames as it swept across the ground. I broke into a run.

My precipitous run was halted when I left the cover of the trees and found myself on the cliffs above the river. To my left the flames roared. To my right I watched the fires slither among the trees and block my way. Behind me, the flames reached for me. I backed to the edge of the cliff and faced the fires and my death. I don't believe I have ever been this frightened. 

I teetered on the edge of the cliff. If I wasn't careful I could easily slip off and plunge to my death at its base. I glanced over my shoulder at the span of the gorge. It was too wide for me to jump. I knelt beside the cliff and looked over. It must have been at least 50 feet to the base and not a single break in the face. Not a single break except for a narrow ledge not more than 15 feet down. Could I reach it?

I looked at the flames behind me and knew there really was no choice in the matter. I could stay here on the edge of the cliff and perish in the flames or I could chance a jump to that tiny ledge. I chose to jump. I lowered myself over the edge above the ledge and drove my fingers into any tiny crack or crevice I could find. I could find no purchase with my boots, however. Finally, I simply let go and trusted that I could land on the ledge below me.

The ledge was small but I landed squarely. With my back to the cliff face I listened to the roar of the fire above me. Its heated breath drifted down to me. It was as if the fire was angered to lose a victim. I laughed defiantly at it and waved a fist in the air. Maybe I shouldn't have done that. Maybe the ledge would have supported my weight without the added movement of my victory dance. It's a little late to be chastising myself over that slip in my composure. 

The ledge crumbled and I fell. Rocks from the ledge fell with me. I recall landing in the river, the wind knocked from my body and rocks falling around me. As I struggled to keep my head above water I knew that I had not escaped unharmed. I struggled against the current and slowly made progress to shore. The pained called to me and I struggled not to give into it. I would drown if I did. I pulled myself onto a rocky bar where the water flowed around me. That is the last I remember until awaking in the hospital. 

It is late and I will continue my recollections tomorrow.

 

Journal entry: 24 September 1993

My journal entry of yestereve is in error. I do remember some things as I lay there on that bar. I don't know if they actually happened or are a creation of my fevered brain. I seem to recall something grabbing my shirt collar and dragging me off the bar and up onto the bank of the river. I could swear that I saw a white wolf standing guard over me. In my mind I can even hear the whine and short bark that were Dief's way of talking to me. Maybe I wanted him to be there so badly that I imagined him as I slipped in and out of the fever. I hope my memories are real and that I did see Dief. It would simply be another instance where I owed him my life but I think it is more likely that I pulled his image from my memories and clung to that until the rescue teams found me.

I alone of my group escaped. The other men were overcome by the fire. I was unable to attend the memorial service for them. Over the days that we had worked together a friendship had formed. I will miss each and every one of them. Fire-fighting is a thankless job and the cost is immeasurable. I doubt that many people give these professionals a thought. That is their loss for the fire-fighting community contains some of the bravest men and women this world has ever known. They give their all in the protection of life and property.

I have lain here in this hospital bed for over a week. My broken leg will heal as will the scrapes and bruises from my fall. The burns have already healed. But the ache in my heart for those brave men I worked with will take longer to heal. Dad visited me for the first 3 days I was here. When my recovering was assured he returned to his duty. We spoke about duty and the loss of friends during the pursuit of that duty and I must agree with him. The highest form of sacrifice we can give is to lay down our lives for others. It is a hard lesson to learn but one I will remember for the rest of my life.

 

Journal entry: 4 October 1993

I returned to duty today--desk work until my leg completely heals. 

The autumn rains have come and the fires are gone. This has been a bad year but not as bad as '88. For that we can be thankful but I remember my friends who perished in this fire.

 

Journal entry: 14 October 1993

I trekked out to the cliff where I fell. I felt a need to deal with the sorrow that I've felt since losing my friends to this fire. I brought a bouquet of yellow roses with me--yellow roses for friendship. I searched and found each of the spots where a friend perished. I placed my roses there in remembrance. Jack Flynn, Frankie Tills, Lance Pelligrew, Buff Markelstone, and Clay Redstone. I shall always remember you. 

I hiked along the cliff face searching for some way down to the river that saved my life but my leg was not strong enough to allow me to climb down. I will try again some other time.

 

Journal entry: 20 October 1993

Cold has come. The brief autumn is over and winter's breath is on the air. I hiked out to the river once more. Something compelled me to go. I followed the river up from the lowland until I reached the spot where I was found. Why did I feel like I needed to come here? I don't know.

I sat down on the bank of the river and ate my lunch. The quite was interrupted only by the murmur of the river. I packed my refuse into my bag and turned to go. Something drew my attention and I halted. From the brush on the slope above me a white form stepped free. Sharp lupine eyes regarded me. I returned the stare my heart beating wildly. He was magnificent. 

We stared at each other not wanting to break the spell but something happened and suddenly the wolf surged forward. He bowled me over and I fought to keep that agile tongue from licking me to death. Diefenbaker. 

All the loneliness I had experienced since he left me was gone. I hugged him and rolled with him on the short grass there on the bank of that river. Maybe those dreams I had were true. Maybe Dief did pull me to safety and watch over me. It doesn't really matter, he was there now. But would he stay with me?

I had never really had a conversation with him but the look in his eyes as I told him of my loneliness and what had happened convinced me that he understood. I told him that I understood his need to be with his own and there was a change in his expression. How did I know that his life with the pack had not been as satisfying as he had hoped? Did this mean he might return with me? Would he be satisfied to be my companion once more? 

The expression in his eyes softened and he leaned forward and ran his tongue across my face once more. I knew in that instant that he had decided to remain with me. I cannot begin to express the feelings that flowed through me as I stood and said to him, "Let's go home, Dief." Nor can I describe the feelings that I felt when he stood and followed me--not as a pet but as a companion, a friend. 

 

The End

 

Copyright August 1999 by Cassandra Hope

Comments are welcome at 

durango@ionet.net

 

 

 


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